


Piantao

by figure-skating-prompts (orphan_account)



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Attraction, M/M, hints of yuzusho, yuzu is a disaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 07:01:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15114221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/figure-skating-prompts
Summary: Originally posted on Tumblr. Prompt: "Shoma skating Loco a little too precisely when he noticed certain someone is watching. (Yuzu maybe?)""Shoma rolled his shoulders, neck exposed and arms extended downward. He moved slowly, watching his figure move in front of the mirror. This was him without the skates, a practice to see how his upper body and face moved and reacted with the music. The young man pitched forward, allowing a shudder to torturously move throughout his body, almost as if he were being possessed by the piece.Loco. Crazy. Insane. In love."





	Piantao

A screech of music, and although he didn’t jump, he made a quick, long movement, practically making himself into a perfect curve as he danced. The turn of the piece.

Then, the beginning of a soft, singing voice, each note becoming louder and more rounded.

Shoma rolled his shoulders, neck exposed and arms extended downward. He moved slowly, watching his figure move in front of the mirror. This was him without the skates, a practice to see how his upper body and face moved and reacted with the music. The young man pitched forward, allowing a shudder to torturously move throughout his body, almost as if he were being possessed by the piece.

Loco. Crazy. Insane. In love.

He was supposed to be feeling some sort of jealousy, some sort of innate, delirious energy because he was so obsessed with someone else. He glanced upward, let his hands move up his body for the briefest of teasing moments, then sharpened his stance, fingers straight and eyes focused.

As he moved, Shoma let himself switch between two characters–the first, smooth and lyrical and desperate, and the second, intense and sharp and combative and destructive. He was fighting against himself, almost manic, as he struggled between the two identities. And that was it–this was a battle within himself, within the characters he was portraying. Who were they? Lovers? Enemies? Both?

Maybe both.

It was passionate, the way that he let his body flow and weave into the piece. The control was evident in the intentional curl of his fingers, in the edges he carved into his smooth lines, but the general impression was supposed to be uncontrolled, a creature so embroiled in emotions that all common sense was lost.

He had been told, by Machiko and not Mihoko, that he should try to incorporate more sensuality into his performance, and so he found himself standing in front of a mirror, trying to overanalyze his movements. But was that sexy, to try to choreograph everything down to the fingertip? Maybe the control aspect. To show that he was completely in submission to himself and only himself, and to show that he was the master of his own body, as well–that was sexy.

But everything else, he figured, should be fluid and natural and organic. But, if it made him a better skater, he was willing to try anything. Even if it meant trying to seduce a reflection of himself.

The music intensified, and Shoma dipped lower, narrowed his gaze, beckoned himself to come nearer. He feigned a leap, turning and stepping along the floor, his movements precise and deliberate.

Insane, insane, insane.

Was it right, he wondered, to have every movement so calculated, when he was trying to invoke such a passionate voice in his performance? Was he taking away from its authenticity, when he was like this? Shoma narrowed his gaze, let his mouth drop open as he moved, all the more rushed and needy and frantic. He was desirable, he thought as he crept a bit closer. At this point, he was going off the choreography, instead moving in a way that felt natural.

Maybe he was both, both handsome and entirely beautiful, and Shoma held onto his pose, leg straight and toes pointed, head tilted to elongate his neck, eyes trained to the wall, for a few seconds. He knew that he wasn’t a conventional male skater; he was small and a bit stockier, his legs not nearly as long as everyone else’s. But his body was also incredibly strong, his jumping height impressive despite his stature. Shoma could catch a lot of his own mistakes with his deep knees, holding onto some landings that might have been impossible for others. He had worked to improve his stamina, and so he could dance here, for hours, probably, running through the same routine without slowing down.

In a way, Shoma learned that it was easier performing on the ice, because he had judges to impress, those people that he had to convince with his artistry. But when he was alone in this dance studio, with just a mirror in front of him that seemed to display each and every one of his flaws and his insecurities, Shoma felt even more pressure to portray himself as his piece required. With a jolt, he stopped himself, right in the middle of his routine, and ran a hand through his hair, shaking it out a bit. It was wilder now, and he resumed dancing, moving across the room in quick and easy movements. On skates, he would give himself the benefit of looking at his feet, to make sure that they didn’t slip out from under him, but at this moment he could only watch himself as he covered distance, and he let his hands roam over his body, dropping his head back even as he moved.

He spun a bit, just for effect, knowing that he would spin so much more fluidly on the ice, ending with both arms outstretched for just a few moments before letting the position fall. Breathing out a long sigh, Shoma rolled his shoulders to loosen his joints. He closed his eyes for a moment, opening them and nearly jumping back in surprise.

Yuzuru had walked in, the older man’s eyes wide, a shocked sort of smile playing on his features. “I thought the room was open–” he said quickly, and he dropped his bag to the ground. “Please don’t stop, though. You were doing great–” He slid down the wall, sitting down, and Shoma shrugged.

“I was almost done, honestly,” the young man insisted, and he took a step away from the mirror. “I was just–just trying to figure out some of my movements, and the faces.” He smiled self-consciously and scratched at one of his arms. “Any advice?”

He asked simply because he knew how much control Yuzuru had over himself. Even when he had a high-energy routine, Yuzuru seemed to know exactly where to move his body and how to control his facial expressions. Shoma was a little bit envious, honestly, and if his friend could offer any insight, than he would be undoubtedly thankful.

Yuzuru shook his head, and Shoma raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you need any help, honestly. If you can do out there what you just did now, then I don’t think that you have anything to worry about.” He grinned cheekily, and he pulled out his phone. “I can record you, though, if you want. That way you can actually see what you’re doing.”

Suddenly, the idea of being recorded was a frightening one, and Shoma frowned, biting his lip. Why was it so much easier for him to dance in front of a mirror (though it had been harder than on the ice), than it would be to dance in front of Yuzuru.

“I don’t know–” Shoma began, and he could see a look cross his friend’s features. It was a slight irritation, but it was also disappointment, if anything else, and Shoma couldn’t quite figure out where it was coming from. “I just wanted to give you your time to practice your stuff,” he added quickly, already beginning to look around for his bag.

Yuzuru noticed it first, and he slid the bag toward him, draping a leg over it. “You don’t get this back until you run through your routine again,” he said definitively, clearly not caring when Shoma glared. “I admire what you do, Shoma, you’re going to have to be more confident in what you do. No one else is going to believe it unless you do.” He pushed off against his knees and stood up. “On second thought, I’ve got a better idea.”

Oh, no.

“Run through it in front of me. Try seducing this old man,” Yuzuru instructed. Here he was, in a baggy white t-shirt and thin black pants, standing in front of Shoma as if he were actually Shoma’s instructor (or, in this case, object of affection). But Yuzuru stood so confidently, like he knew that he was worthy of admiration.

And, Shoma reasoned, Yuzuru was probably the best person to perform in front of. He was always the eternal goal, someone who was deserving of praise and attention. And, if that were true (which it was), then Shoma figured that he needed to at least entertain the notion of letting Yuzuru be the person he was supposed to entertain, to lust after. Reluctantly, he nodded, starting the music again.

And it helped. It helped to have Yuzuru in front of him, to move closer, so much so that he was practically an inch away, fingers hovering so close to Yuzuru. But it was the control he was finding within himself to maintain that distance, to close himself away from someone so ethereal and majestic that absolutely required to be touched.

It was in the rejection, the way that Shoma refused to give into the temptation, that helped him find a deeper sex appeal.

When the music ended abruptly, Shoma let out a few short breaths, exhausted from going through his program as many times as he did. He grinned, pleased with himself, and looked over at Yuzuru. “That was so much better. I–I really think I felt it that time,” he said, and he patted Yuzuru’s arm. “Thanks so much, Yuzu.”

The other man’s expression was completely unreadable, but it was evident (to anyone but Shoma) that he too had been affected by the routine in some way. Yuzuru cleared his throat, glancing away. “Mm-hmm. Anytime.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> All my completed prompts are posted on figure-skating-prompts.tumblr.com, but if you see something there that should be here, let me know!


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